


Cheekbones Caffrey

by Silbrith



Series: Crossed Lines [11]
Category: Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Crowley makes Neal an offer he can't refuse. April 2006.
Series: Crossed Lines [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/513628
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Sympathy for the Devil

**Blue Crescent Jazz Club, New Orleans. Sunday, April 2, 2006.**

"She bloody well didn't deserve it!" Crowley slammed his glass onto the cocktail table, causing the Scotch to slosh onto the polished mahogany surface.

Jeremy exhaled slowly, stood up, and retrieved a bar towel with the liquor cart. After he mopped up the splash, he silently held out his hand for the cut-glass tumbler.

"Make it three fingers this time," Crowley ordered. It was truly unfortunate that demons couldn't get inebriated. He'd feel better if he were sozzled out of his skull.

"Drasko will report back soon." Jeremy's carefully modulated Oxford-English accent was a soothing balm on Crowley's blistered soul. "I should leave to greet the club's patrons. Will you be all right?"

Crowley dismissed him with a careless wave of his hand. The stuffed peacocks in Jeremy's office could be the recipients of his outrage.

Up to two nights ago, Crowley's life in New Orleans was as smooth as the Glencraig he drank. Jeremy Sangford, one of Astrena's pure-blood vampire princes had become a respected figure in the French Quarter scene with his jazz club earning rave reviews. Crowley was able to divide his time between the club and Rana's house of discreet pleasures. The brothel provided a banquet of straight and queer delights for every taste, and Crowley feasted on all of them. His ID fraud business was thriving with Drasko once more managing the vampire hackers. If Crowley were a pessimist, he would have predicted it couldn't last.

Rana's demise made him realize how fond he'd grown of her . . . and her bed. Two nights ago Crowley had made a surprise appearance in her bedroom only to find her meatsuit sprawled on the satin sheets, her throat slashed. The demon inside her had disappeared without a trace. Perhaps she'd merely been banished back to Hell . . . same difference. She wasn't here.

Most likely hunters had gotten to her, but how? Demons weren't easy to kill by mortals. Had hunters acquired an angel blade or some other demon-killing knife? Was the attack on Rana the opening salvo in a new war?

The door to the office opened and Drasko stepped inside. The slim lines of his face looked unusually somber.

"What did you find out?" Crowley demanded.

Drasko sat down beside him on the Victorian settee. "I checked with some of our contacts on the East Coast. Everyone's going into hiding. Demons— _your_ demons—are being slaughtered at an unparalleled rate."

An anvil crashed into Crowley's gut. "Who would dare commit such an outrage? Who was even capable of it? Hunters? The Men of Letters?"

Drasko shook his head. "Even worse. Abaddon's back. The word is she's no longer content in ruling Hell. She's setting down a marker on Earth, and apparently her first targets are your associates."

_Bollocks_. It wasn't supposed to be this way. "Are you sure?" he demanded. "Abaddon hasn't been on Earth since 1958." That was the year she believed she'd wiped out the Men of Letters in the States. Crowley knew better of course. The Men of Letters had simply gone even further underground, using the cover of the investigative firm Winston-Winslow.

"There's no doubt, sir. Vampires captured one of her demons last night and tortured him for the truth. Abaddon heard whispers that the American branch of the Men of Letters wasn't destroyed after all. We succeeded in ferreting out the truth and she must have as well. Her demon claimed she's come to Earth to finish the job."

"So why is she picking on me?" Crowley asked aggrievedly.

"I'd hoped you could tell me. The demon we captured claimed that Abaddon is going after all those that work for you, and then she's coming after you. Once that's done, she's taking on the Men of Letters." Drasko raked a strand of long hair behind one ear. "We're all going to have to go underground, but that's only a temporary haven. Do you know why she's targeted you?"

Crowley downed his Scotch in one gulp. "I ruled Hell before she usurped it." His words trailed off as he reflected on their history. "Perhaps she's afraid that I've grown too powerful."

"And she's ordered the competition to be eliminated?" Drasko nodded slowly. "Since she's no longer in Hell, she could worry that you'll take advantage of her absence to seize the throne."

"Abandon the pleasures of New Orleans for fire and brimstones?" Crowley scowled. "The flames of Hell must have fried her brain."

"I wonder how she heard about Win-Win," Drasko mused. "We only just discovered the truth."

Crowley wasn't about to raise his hand and admit his complicity. Although, honestly Rana was the one to blame, not him. She'd been the one to suggest they leak word about Win-Win to Abaddon. Rana instructed one of the demons working for her to leak the news to one of Abaddon's minions in New Orleans. The idea, which initially had sounded bloody brilliant, was that Abaddon would return and get rid of Crowley's Men of Letters problem. She wasn't supposed to target him too.

He'd faced off against Abaddon before. It had been one of those humiliating experiences he had absolutely no desire to repeat. Give up the comfortable lifestyle he'd painstakingly acquired? Not happening. And being banished back to Hell to grovel as a fifth-class demon was unthinkable.

Desperate times called for extraordinary measures.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned to June's at the end of the workday, the downstairs was quiet. June mentioned in the morning that she'd be attending a play with friends. Tonight it would be just him and Bugsy in the mansion.

He jogged up the stairs to the loft. The door to his apartment was closed but a streak of light could be seen at the bottom. He was sure he hadn't left any lamps on, but the thought of a visitor wasn't unsettling. Gone were the days when Neal had to worry about some foe from his past lurking in the shadows. Thanks to the draconian security system installed by Mozzie, there was no chance of unwelcome drop-ins. Aside from June and her staff, only Peter, Mozzie, and Henry had keys, and out of that group, only one didn't believe in advance notice.

Neal tried to turn the doorknob but found it locked. Odd. Mozzie wouldn't normally lock himself in unless he was feeling unusually paranoid. Had he succeeded in finding the Tudor Crown?

Neal fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and the welcoming smile on his face turned to shocked surprise.

"It's about time, Cheekbones. I was growing bored with always winning."

Sitting on Neal's couch, the chessboard in front of him on the cocktail table, was Curtis Hagen. No, not Hagen, Crowley. A demon. On his couch. Drinking his wine. And where did he get off calling him Cheekbones?

"Well, don't just stand there like a goopy-eyed fish. Come and join me. There's a little left to the claret." Crowley scowled. "I'd thought a man of your refinement would have Scotch as well. I'm disappointed in you, Cheekbones."

"Don't call me Cheekbones." Exasperation trumped what should be terror at seeing a demon in his loft. The guy had the same snarky British accent as Hagen, but he was dressed better. The coal-black suit fit him well. The dark burgundy shirt was a bit excessive . . . "What are you doing here, Crowley?"

He heaved a much put-upon sigh. "What does it look like? Waiting for you, of course. Do take a seat and relax. I'm not here to kill you. Unless, that is, you insist."

He didn't appear very threatening. His eyes weren't blazing lumps of coal. If anything, he looked weary and hungover.

The last time Neal had seen Crowley was close to a year ago in a castle in West Virginia. A pure-blood vampire had captured Peter and Dean and wanted to kill them. Crowley had argued for a less radical fate. In September, Crowley, along with Diana and Jones, had been held a prisoner of the leech-man. Diana had described the scene to Neal in vivid detail. Despite liberal doses of snarky comments, Crowley had helped them escape. Was this a demon with a soft spot for White Collar? More to the point, could he be conned? Neal was about to find out.

He poured himself a glass from the half-empty bottle, pulled up a chair next to the cocktail table, and surveyed the chessboard. "The white king is in danger of being checkmated. I assume that's you?"

Crowley studied him for a moment. "Why don't you think it's you?"

"Because you wouldn't be here unless you wanted something from me."

"Don't get uppity, Cheekbones."

Neal exhaled noisily. "If you want my help, call me Neal."

"Now, don't sulk," Crowley said, frowning. "You should like the nickname. Most of mine are far worse."

Tempting as it was to ask about what those other names were, Neal shoved the thought aside. He picked up the black king. "If this isn't you, who is it?"

"I believe you have a cousin named Henry," Crowley said nonchalantly.

How did he know about Henry? Had Crowley been spying on him? But then, Neal really had no idea what demons were capable of besides that they could teleport. He was suddenly tired of playing games. "I do. What is your interest in him?"

Crowley picked up the white queen. "Henry's about to be attacked by Abaddon. I promise you the results will not be to your liking." He used the queen to brush the king onto the floor.

"The only Abaddon I know of is an angel in the _Book of Revelation_." Neal frantically cudgeled his brains for any recollections but came up empty. He longed for Mozzie and his encyclopedic memory.

Crowley dismissed the idea with a flick of his fingers. "Abaddon is no angel. She's a Knight of Hell, a first-born demon created by Lucifer, and one of the most powerful of the lot."

"If she's so powerful, why haven't I heard about her?" Neal protested. It was growing increasingly difficult to think of Crowley as a demon. He seemed so ordinary.

Crowley scowled. "Because she rules over what is rightfully my domain—Hell, you twit."

_At last we're getting somewhere._ _Crowley has a grudge on the lady._ Neal didn't believe for an instant she really ruled over Hell. He wasn't at all convinced that Hell existed, but if Crowley wanted to rule over it, it was fine with him.

"Why is she interested in Henry?"

"It's his own bloody fault. His family should have left well enough alone. Abaddon despises the Men of Letters. She thought she'd exterminated them in 1958. When they decided to regroup as Winston-Winslow, they signed their death warrant." He shrugged. "It took her a while to figure it out, but it was inevitable."

Neal stared at him in disbelief. "Win-Win is a front for the Men of Letters?"

"Don't play me, Cheekbones. It's unbecoming. Unless . . . " His eyes narrowed. "Didn't Henry tell you?"

Could Crowley possibly be right? Neal wouldn't put it past the firm to have some dark secrets, but he was positive Henry wasn't aware of any connection to the Men of Letters.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie used his key to let himself into June's house. Neal should be home by now. He probably hadn't had dinner yet. They could go out and celebrate. It was unfortunate Janet was tied up with a theater production. Still, this would be a chance for him and Neal to have a night on the town, just like the old days. Dinner at La Palette would be an excellent way to start the festivities. Then Mozzie would have a second celebration with Janet at her apartment. The pheromones would be zipping through the air like miniature versions of the TARDIS. Surely, selling a script was worth two days—or rather, two weeks—of festivities. Mozzie's smile was starting to make his jaw ache. His script was sold to _Doctor Who_. It would be in production sometime this summer.

"Neal, get ready to—" The words died in his throat when he opened the door to the loft. "Hagen?"

Hagen scowled. "No need to be insulting."

Neal shook his head forcefully. "This is Crowley."

"As in . . ." Mozzie waved his hand to finish the thought. His knowledge of demon etiquette was woefully lacking. Did demons like being called demons?

Crowley brushed the fingernails of his right hand along his lapel. "That's right, Cueball. As in King of Hell and demon of your worst nightmares." He shrugged. "At least up to recently when Abaddon arrived."

Mozzie sat down at the dinette table near the open bottle of wine. A new bottle would soon be needed. "You're referring, I assume, to Abaddon the Destroyer, the Angel of Death?"

"You can skip the angel part, but otherwise you're spot on."

"Supposedly Abaddon is on a mission from Hell to destroy the Men of Letters," Neal said. "She believes they're hiding out at Win-Win."

Mozzie snapped his fingers. "I knew it was concealing secrets!"

"So Henry didn't confide in you either?" Crowley grimaced. "Typical for that bunch of prats. Surely you're aware that Henry's one of the Winchesters."

"We weren't positive," Neal hedged.

"I do hope I'm not dealing with idiots. Hagen held both of you in rather high regard."

"You have his memories?" Neal asked.

"Yes, and don't get me started on him. The paint-pusher can be a bloody pain. The Men of Letters should concern you much more. Abaddon believed she'd wiped them out in 1958, but one man thwarted her. Henry Winchester, to be precise. He's the Moose and Squirrel's granddaddy."

Neal gave him a puzzled look. "Why Moose and Squirrel?"

"Bullwinkle and Rocky the Flying Squirrel," Mozzie interjected. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Crowley eyed him appraisingly. "Not bad, Cueball."

"That must mean I should call you Boris," Neal quipped.

Crowley grimaced. "Don't get cocky, Cheekbones, or I'll start calling you Natasha."

Mozzie didn't waste time comparing his characteristics to the Dick Tracy character Cueball, although he would have made an intriguing Boris . . . For another time. Instead, he rifled through the genealogy files stored in his brain. Henry Winchester was the same generation as Graham Winslow, making him Henry's great-uncle.

Neal frowned. "If she's seeking vengeance on Henry Winchester, wouldn't she go after Dean and Sam?"

"They're hunters. Not so easy to kill. The Men of Letters, though, have the reputation of being wimps. Besides, your cousin's the one with the connections to Win-Win."

Neal frowned. "You still haven't answered why you're being so helpful."

Mozzie's initial reaction was to squelch the questions. Why risk irritating a demon? But curiosity trumped caution and he remained quiet.

Crowley glowered for a moment, fingering the black queen's throat as if he was looking for her jugular. "Because she's after me too. I demand protection. You and the FBI owe me. Didn't I save your hide when Alcy wanted to snuff you out? Only a few months ago, I rescued Breathless and Flattop from blood-sucking zombies. It's payback time."

Neal stared at him, speechless, for a moment. "You want us to take out a Knight of Hell?"

"Didn't I already make that clear? Of course I do. You're the FBI. Your duty is to defend the nation, and I promise you with Abaddon on the loose, no one's safe. She'll start with Win-Win, but that won't satisfy her. If you don't get rid of her now, you'll be facing a horror worse than the Apocalypse."

**WCWCWCWCWCWC**

Seemingly, any fear of demons Mozzie might have possessed had quickly dissipated. How could it compare with the news of a secret conspiracy of scholars hiding out within the bowels of Win-Win? Neal groaned to himself. Having one friend who was a conspiracy nut was bad enough. Now that said friend and a paranoid demon were feeding off each other's theories, there was no telling what extremes they would go to.

Mozzie lapped up the tale of Abaddon like a kitten drinking cream. Meanwhile, Crowley appeared to glow from his adulation. Neal surreptitiously pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Crowley drained his glass of wine and stood up. "Next time I'm here, I expect to be supplied with Glencraig. I've told you all I know." He raised his hand as if to snap his fingers.

"Wait," Neal called out. "How can I contact you?"

Crowley heaved a short sigh and pulled out a business card from his shirt pocket. "You can leave a message at this number, Cheekbones. Don't bother me unless it's important."

Neal glanced at the card. It was blank except for a telephone number.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley vanished.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"The Men of Letters are headquartered at Win-Win?" Henry stared at the phone in disbelief, wishing Neal could see his expression. Henry had called Eric over and put the phone on speaker when Neal said it was urgent. Now he regretted the decision.

"Okay, you had your fun," Henry grumbled. "Since you weren't here on April Fool's Day, I should have realized you'd aim for a surprise prank. This is payback for when I taught you how to drive on the ice by wrecking a car, isn't it?" The worst was he'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Oh, Neal had been clever. Starting off small by insisting a demon had visited him. Abaddon was a nice, esoteric twist. Who'd ever heard of a Knight of Hell? But this was too much.

"Listen to me," Neal pleaded. Damn it but his voice did have the ring of sincerity. Now he was just showing off. "Mozz, you tell him."

"He's right. May the ghost of J. Edgar haunt me the rest of my days if I'm lying to you, and you know I wouldn't joke about that. Crowley was here. I saw him. More to the point, I saw him disappear afterward. That's hard to fake."

"And Crowley's convinced Henry's one of the Men of Letters?" Eric asked, watching Henry worriedly. Clearly he believed they were being truthful, even if Henry still had lingering doubts.

"Hard as it is to accept, that's right," Neal said. "But more importantly, Abaddon believes it too. Now she wants to continue the purge, starting with Henry."

"Why didn't you let me know?" Mozzie whined. "A society of scholars who dedicate themselves to combatting monsters? I'm a perfect candidate. Don't you trust me?"

"Stop that!" Henry ordered. "There's no secret society at Win-Win."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Eric asked quietly. "It wouldn't hurt to ask Noelle or your grandfather."

"Yes, it would!" Henry retorted quickly. "Neither one of them knows anything about the monsters the Winchesters hunt. I've told them about the possible family connection—which is still not proven, by the way—but they think Dean and Sam are freelance investigators." He'd comforted himself that Dean and Sam were quick to approve of his decision. As far as they were concerned, the fewer innocents who knew about them, the better.

"I called you first," Neal said. "Next on my list are the Winchesters and Peter. Please, take this seriously. The threat is real. You need to take precautions, and Win-Win does as well."

Henry nodded absently as unease settled in. "Pops could be targeted too."

"The risk may not be high for them," Neal said. "Crowley said demons have been keeping track of the Winchesters. That's how they found out about you. The family resemblance is undeniable. Since your grandfather hasn't associated with the Winchesters, she may not know about him."

Small comfort, but Henry was relieved that Dean and Sam had put off meeting Pops despite his many invitations. "So, any clues on what kind of measures I should take against a Knight of Hell?"

"For now, don't go anywhere by yourself," Neal advised. "No walking Splash by yourself at night. I'll get back to you with the Winchesters' recommendations."

Henry shoved a hand through his hair. What a mess. He was in the middle of a case. Win-Win wanted him to travel to Sao Paolo. What was he going to tell them? That he was being stalked by a demon? "Do you know what she looks like?"

"Sorry, I don't. Crowley said she could possess anyone. Generally she prefers a woman, but she could just as easily take on a man's appearance. I know you're frustrated. Just be careful, okay?"

**The Next Day. On the Road to New York City.**

"You'll let us know if you hear anything else?" Sam asked into the cell phone.

"Ya think I'm a natural-born idjit?" Bobby rasped so loudly Dean could hear him as well. "Don't worry about the girls. I'll keep them safe . . . and make sure you come back in one piece."

"Will do, and thanks." Sam's anxious expression eased a little as he ended the call.

"I gather Bobby confirmed Crowley's story about Abaddon?" Dean said, sparing a glance from the road to check Sam's reaction. When Neal called, they were at a motel in Wilkes-Barre. Instead of returning to New Haven, they'd decided to head straight to New York City.

"Yeah, he also heard that demons are being slaughtered by Abaddon's henchmen. So far he hasn't been able to get a description of her."

"Awesome. We're forced to rely on the word of a demon." Dean grimaced. Wasn't that a kick in the gut?

"It gets worse," Sam said in his patented doom-is-at-hand voice. "Knights of Hell are the most powerful demons known to exist. If there's any way to gank Abaddon, Crowley will have to tell us how."

"What I don't understand is why he's being so helpful."

"Maybe it's like Neal said," Sam suggested. "His meatsuit is influencing him."

Dean chewed his lower lip. "I don't buy it. There's no way Crowley is doing this as some noble gesture. And why is he asking for our help? If a demon can't take down Abaddon, why does he think we can?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't."

"He wants us all to die together?"

"It could be an act of vengeance for what we did to Astrena."

"I suppose it's possible. We don't know how close they were."

"Whatever his motive, I bet Crowley is worried that Abaddon could come after him too. He may believe the Men of Letters discovered a way of killing her."

Dean snorted. "If that's the case, we're already screwed." Henry had called them earlier in the day. He'd checked with his grandfather, the former CEO of the outfit, and he'd never heard of the Men of Letters.

Once Neal heard Dean and Sam were coming to New York, he contacted Crowley who'd agreed to meet with them in Neal's loft this evening. Dean hoped it wasn't a wasted trip. With virtually nothing to go on, it was almost enough to wish for the good old days with Astrena.

Dean slipped a cassette into the player. "Highway to Hell" seemed fitting.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry ticked the last name off his list. Allen Winston, Win-Win's CEO, had been the most difficult to persuade that extra security was warranted. Henry had relied on Peter's suggestion to use Rolf Mansfeld's hypothetical silent partner as the justification. Up to now, he hadn't shared the Bureau's suspicions with his family in Baltimore or his firm. With only speculation as evidence, it hadn't seemed necessary.

Cthulhu, the nickname Mozzie had given to the partner, had the advantage that Henry could be completely honest in divulging their concerns. He'd even won points from his mom for being so open, only suffering a slight twinge from providing her a partial account.

For once, Peter and Eric were in agreement that there was no point in trying to make the family believe a Knight of Hell was on the warpath against Win-Win and him in particular. Simply asking about the Men of Letters had been enough of a stretch.

Henry stretched his arms behind his back. He'd worked through lunch—never a good idea—and now the cupcake shop located next to his office building was a siren calling his name. Neal might be able to recharge on coffee, but for Henry chocolate was the essential catalyst. He'd even jog down the stairs rather than take the elevator, thus earning the treat. With the security guard in the lobby, there was no need to worry about demonic attacks, and midafternoon the street would be filled with people.

The only difficulty Henry foresaw was which cupcake to pick. In the end, he settled on a chocolate truffle for himself and an assortment for the rest of the team.

As he left the shop, a well-dressed woman with shoulder-length auburn hair approached him. "I hope you can help me. I'm meeting friends at the Angelika Film Center. I thought it was on Lafayette Street."

"You're close," Henry said. "It's two streets west of us."

"Could you show me on my map?"

She pulled out a pocket guide and opened it to the SoHo section. As Henry leaned over it, she pressed her hand to his forehead. It was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! For readers of Caffrey Conversation who are new to the Crossed Lines series, I've written an introduction to the story for our blog: "[Destination: Cheekbones Caffrey](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/09/destination-cheekbones-caffrey.html)." Penna and I are trying something different this time. Events in Cheekbones Caffrey will precipitate her story Roads Not Taken which she'll post at the conclusion of this story._

_How much trouble is Henry in? Will Crowley play nice with Neal and Peter? Will Mozzie discover a hidden side to Win-Win? I hope you'll join me for Chapter 2: Lady in Black which I'll post next Wednesday._

_Background Information: In the pre-canon Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen, FBI Special Agent Peter Burke recruited con artist and expert forger Neal Caffrey in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant at the White Collar task force in New York City. Sam and Dean Winchester are demon-hunting brothers. Sam is roughly the same age as Neal. Dean is four years older than Sam. Peter is fifteen years older than Neal. For those familiar with the Supernatural timeline, the action is set early in the second season of Supernatural. The Crossed Lines page on our blog has more background information about the stories._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
 _Story Visuals and Music: The Cheekbones Caffrey board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)_  
 _Twitter:_ [_@silbrith_](https://twitter.com/silbrith)  
  



	2. Lady in Black

**June's mansion. April 5, 2006. Wednesday afternoon.**

Peter's initial reaction to Crowley's visit was identical to Henry's or so Neal claimed. But once Peter was convinced Neal was serious, he was left with a dilemma. The threat was instigated by a demon. Not exactly standard Bureau jurisdiction. And, as if that weren't bad enough, the accuser was to outward appearances a known fugitive. If Peter reported the threat, he'd have to explain how Hagen had been transformed into a demon and why Peter had neglected to enter it into the file.

So, for now, he'd keep the case off the books while at the same time insisting on being present for whatever went down. Just how much danger was Henry actually in? Neal was convinced the threat was real, but Peter suspected Crowley was running a scam of some sort. For Henry's sake, Peter hoped his theory was the correct one.

The Winchesters were due to arrive in the city around three o'clock in the afternoon. Peter accompanied Neal to meet them at June's. Since the case didn't concern anyone at White Collar, Peter didn't feel it was necessary to inform the rest of the team about Abaddon. The less involved Jones, Diana, and the other Bureau agents were with Hagen's decidedly murky status, the better. For Jones, it was an especially sensitive subject since he'd been the one to initially identify the Dutchman.

"Thank you for letting Dean and Sam stay here," Peter told June when she greeted them at the front door.

"After all I've heard about the Winchesters, I feel like I know them," June said with a smile. "They're welcome to stay as long as they want." She cast a sharp glance at Neal. "I gather the two of you aren't involved in the threat?"

"Only to the extent that Crowley thinks we're pals because of Hagen," Neal said. "Have I mentioned how glad I am that you'll be away at a board meeting when he comes calling?"

"Several times," June said. She picked up her purse from the entry table. "The opportunities I miss out on! From what you told me of this demon, I would probably enjoy meeting him. Oh, and don't forget to take the Scotch with you upstairs."

Neal kissed her on the cheek and murmured, "Proving yet again you're one in a million."

"And don't you ever forget it," she admonished with mock severity. "If Crowley insists on demonstrating his powers, please keep it confined to the third floor. It could inspire the renovation."

"What project was she referring to?" Peter asked as they jogged upstairs.

"June is mulling over what to do with the third-floor attic," Neal explained. "Currently, the only livable space is the loft. The rest of the floor is storage space for a hodgepodge of old furniture, cast-off toys, and memorabilia. You could get lost in there, trust me. Mozzie's had a couple of tours with June. There's nothing of much value, except sentimental."

"Meaning the items are that much harder to part with." Peter nodded as he reflected on his parents' current attempts to downsize. "Decluttering is often a prelude to putting a house on the market. June's not thinking of moving, is she?"

"She hasn't mentioned anything to me, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's considering it. She lives on the ground floor. The second-floor guestrooms are seldom used."

Was Neal concerned about his status? He'd never be able to duplicate what he had here. Peter used to worry that living in the mansion would give him unrealistic expectations, but June seemed to enjoy Neal's presence as much as he liked living with her.

Neal paused at the door to the loft, a pensive expression on his face. "June mentioned that she's discussed the house's future with her daughters. Neither one of them has any desire to live in the city. Mozzie believes the house is an excellent investment but June may not feel it's worth the effort to maintain it."

The ringing of Neal's cell phone stopped Peter from following up. Neal pulled it out as he walked inside. "It's Eric," he said, slanting Peter a worried glance.

He'd barely had time to say hello before Eric interrupted him. "Henry's missing." Eric's voice was loud enough that Peter could hear it. "Sofia called from his office," Eric added in a slightly lower tone as Neal immediately switched to speakerphone. "He left the office around three for a cupcake run and hasn't come back. He'd told the staff about the heightened alert, so they only waited twenty minutes before going after him."

"Did he go to the bakery adjacent to his office?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, the owner knows Henry well. She said that just after he made the purchase, she saw him through the shop window. He was talking with a woman. Brunette hair, about Sofia's height—that's five foot six. The owner remembers because the stranger was wearing a tight black leather suit and stiletto heels. Not the typical attire for a spring day. The owner turned to wait on a customer and didn't see her again."

This had to be the Knight of Hell Crowley had referred to. Suddenly what had been easy to dismiss as delusional nonsense was a real, physical threat.

"Eric, would you like me to call Noelle?" Neal asked.

"Thanks, but I'd like to talk to her. I won't be able to focus on work. We can reassure each other. Explaining it in terms of a threat by Rolf's silent partner makes the attack more bearable. I'll say that Cthulhu wants something and Henry's being used as a bargaining chip. For the moment, we're forced to wait till Cthulhu reaches out."

Neal didn't respond to the assumptions Eric was making. Up to now, Abaddon was known more for murders than kidnappings. If Crowley was right, she was out to kill anyone associated with the Men of Letters. The greatest probability was that Henry was already dead, and by Neal's grim expression, that's what he believed as well.

Neal ended the call and sat down at the dinette table. Propping his arms on the surface, he balled his hand into a tight fist, clenching it in front of his mouth.

Peter rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. There was very little reassurance he could offer which wouldn't be an empty platitude.

He considered options as he walked over to the French doors opening onto the terrace. Dean and Sam were already on their way and should be here within the hour. They shouldn't be in danger since they had no connection to Win-Win. Absently, he heard Neal turn on the water in the kitchen sink.

Without warning, a woman's hand snaked around Peter's throat, choking his windpipe. He was slammed onto the floor, hitting it with a thud that made his head spin. He blinked his eyes to see a woman in a tight black leather suit and stiletto heels standing over him. She tossed back her auburn hair and positioned one heel directly over his heart. Peter was unable to move or speak. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his head.

"Don't make a move," she hissed to Neal, "or he dies."

"If you want something from me, release him," Neal said defiantly.

"All in good time. Do you know who I am?"

"Abaddon."

She gave a condescending smile. "That simplifies matters. I have someone you value, Henry Winslow."

"Is he alright?"

"For the moment." The smile she bestowed on him sickened Peter to the core. "He claims he doesn't know where the key is. I read his thoughts for confirmation. Supposedly, you don't either."

"That's not exactly true," Neal corrected calmly. "True, I don't have it in my possession, but I know how to find out where it is. And don't waste your time trying to read my mind. You'll never be able to trace the number of steps I'll need to take. The key means nothing to me, but Henry does. I'm willing to trade the key for Henry, but only if he's uninjured."

What key was Neal talking about? This was insanity.

"How do I know you're speaking the truth?" Neal continued. "I want to see Henry."

She shrugged. "Very well, but you won't be able to talk to him." She flicked her hand, and a small cloud of gas hovered five feet off the floor. It dissolved into an image of Henry, bound to a chair in a small cell-like room.

Neal eyed it skeptically. "How do I know this is a live feed?"

She raised an eyebrow. "He is being controlled by me. If you want proof, watch this." She slapped the air with the palm of her hand. Henry flinched as the right cheek on his face reddened. "Does that satisfy you?" she mocked.

"Make sure that's the last time he's hurt if you want the key," Neal ordered, his face hardening into sharp angles. "You'll need to give me a couple of days to prepare. I have to go to Baltimore to retrieve it and will need to sneak into the facility. I'll have it for you on Friday night."

"I'll meet you there."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "In Baltimore?"

"Of course," she said impatiently.

"Henry will be with you?"

She nodded. "If you don't have the key, you can watch each other die."

"How will I contact you?"

She blinked and a sheet of paper appeared on the table. "Call me at this number when you have the key. Henry dies at midnight on Friday if I haven't heard from you." With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared.

The pressure on Peter's chest immediately lifted. Neal crouched beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Better than you," Peter got to his feet, waving off Neal's hand. "What key are you talking about?"

"I have no idea but I'm going to provide her one."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Crowley knew he'd been right to contact the paint-pusher. Who else would dare con Abaddon?

By the time Crowley teleported to Cheekbones's humble loft, the hunters had already arrived. This was going to be fun, and he wasn't about to let the gloomy faces of his new crew spoil the moment.

Crowley was pleased to see the Glencraig on the kitchen counter. He promptly poured himself a glass. It was an auspicious omen that he hadn't been present for Abaddon's visit. She wouldn't have wasted any time in dispatching him back to Hell as the most menial of her servants.

Instead, he was in the driver's seat with hunters, a G-man, and an expert con artist gathered around, ready to do his bidding. Former enemies, they were now fighting a common foe. Comrades in arms. Brothers against Abaddon. It was all Crowley could do to keep himself from crowing out loud.

"Crowley, what do you know about the key that Abaddon wants?" Dean growled.

Really he should adopt a more polite tone to his new boss, but Crowley could afford to cut him a little slack. "How much do _you_ know about the Men of Letters?" he countered, tempering the sarcasm.

"Not much beyond the fact Abaddon exterminated the American branch in 1958," Sam said.

"Then you've never heard of the bunker?" By their shared looks of bewilderment, none of them did. Odd that Henry hadn't shared the information even with his cousin. Crowley turned to his con artist. "Not bad, Cheekbones. I thought you'd simply conned Abaddon about the key's location but in actuality you don't even know which bloody key she wants."

After taking a moment to enjoy the wince Cheekbones made at the use of his nickname, Crowley took pity on his new crew. "Since Henry didn't fill you in, I'll enlighten you, but let this be a lesson. Henry's attitude is typical of the Men of Letters. They keep all their bloody secrets to themselves, making you do the dirty work while they reap the profits." To be fair, that sounded a bit like himself. When this was over, could he strike up a business opportunity with Henry? He'd be so grateful to Crowley for rescuing him that before long Crowley could have the entire American branch of the Men of Letters eating out of his hand. Would Henry be a Hardcase or Mumbles? Nicknames would have to await an in-person assessment.

Dean exhaled noisily. "Enough with the sermonizing. Do you know about the key or don't you?"

Crowley shrugged, a casual gesture designed to express his superior wisdom. "She undoubtedly means the key to the bunker." When they continued to stare blankly at him, he added, "That's the secret headquarters of the Men of Letters. I assumed it had been relocated to Win-Win, but perhaps they were more devious than I gave them credit for. The bunker is rumored to contain the accumulated knowledge of every spell, scroll, and enchanted object known to exist. It has vast files on all creatures and how to dispose of them. Abaddon's no fool. She realizes that as long as the bunker is intact, her rule rests on quicksand."

"How long have you known about the bunker?" Dick Tracy Burke challenged.

"For longer than you've been alive," Crowley retorted. "I assumed Abaddon had destroyed it along with the Men of Letters. But since she obviously missed some of the scholars, it's not a surprise she didn't find the bunker either."

"Do you know where it is?" Dean challenged.

"Not a clue, boys. I suggest you bring that up with your cousin when you rescue him." Crowley took a swig on his Scotch and propped his feet up on the cocktail table. He was getting used to the ambiance of the place, modest though it was. The paintings were a nice touch. He should visit Cheekbones more often.

Sam had been sitting silently for a while. His mouth opened. Was he about to speak or belch? Crowley raised an expectant eyebrow.

"How did Abaddon find out about Henry?" Sam asked, a frown settling in.

Crowley shrugged dismissively. "One of her demons must have overheard him talking about the organization."

The moose's frown intensified. "That won't wash. No one at Win-Win knows anything about the Men of Letters. We only recently learned about the group."

"Henry double-checked a day ago," Burke added. "He spoke with the current and previous CEOs and drew a blank." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You seem remarkably well informed. How long have you been watching us?"

Crowley heaved a small sigh. If he admitted it now, it would prove his superiority. "You already know I was being forced to work for Astrena. She and her demon Scarbo gave me no choice." That wasn't exactly true, but they were in no position to confirm it with the goddess since they'd banished her back to the stars. Good riddance as far as he was concerned. She'd become a liability.

"That still doesn't make sense," Sam said, his frown permanently in place by now. "Unless you were working with Abaddon's demons. Did you tell her about Win-Win?"

"Didn't Cheekbones explain? The lady and I are _not_ on speaking terms. She'd like nothing better than to torture me for all eternity."

"You're hiding something, Crowley," Burke growled. "You were the one who came to us for help. Why did Abaddon wait so long to retrieve the key?"

Blast Burke for his nosiness. Crowley had been too kind when he gave him the Dick Tracy moniker. From now on, it would be Bulldog Burke. "Must I explain everything to you? I hope you realize G-Men aren't the only ones capable of covert surveillance. Win-Win was founded shortly after Abaddon's rampage, but she must have just discovered it. The former CEO, Graham Winslow has a startling resemblance to Seth Winchester, just like Squirrel over here looks like Cheekbones's cousin."

Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, and Crowley intended to nip that in the bud. No point at all in them learning about Crowley's role in the bloodbath. That would drive a stake into the glorious era ahead.

"We're wasting time," Crowley snarled, adding a demonic hiss to his voice just to remind them who they were privileged to work with. "Cheekbones has bought us a little breathing space. I assume you'll be able to fabricate an arcane-looking key which could make her think it's the real thing. How do you intend to put her permanently on ice?"

"We could lure her to a spot where we have a devil's trap hidden," Dean suggested. Crowley had long suspected he was the brighter of the brothers.

"What's a devil's trap?" Bulldog asked.

"It's a symbol drawn onto a surface—usually a floor or ceiling—which has the effect of immobilizing a demon," Sam said. "The details of how to construct one are in the _Lesser Key of Solomon,_ a grimoire from the seventeenth century. The trap is a combination of multiple pentacles forming a heptagram. When combined with the proper spell, it forms a circle of protection."

Nasty piece of work, in Crowley's not-so-humble view, but if the trap helped take down Abaddon, he might consider adding it to his repertoire. What other demon used devil's traps against fellow creatures? Crowley studied the moose with fresh eyes. Perhaps he'd underestimated him.

"The trick will be to lure Abaddon to a spot where we've prepared the demon's trap but keep her unaware until the exchange is made," Dean said.

Bulldog let out a slow breath. "That's not the only issue. Suppose the trap works. What are we supposed to do with Abaddon? We can't leave her there indefinitely. Eventually, she or one of her minions will figure out how she can escape and we could be faced with an even worse Armageddon on our hands." Bulldog scanned the faces of the group, coming to Crowley last. Didn't he realize who was in control?

Crowley restrained his smile as he stroked his tie. The gesture didn't escape Cheekbones' notice who was watching him speculatively. No wonder Hagen liked him

"You have a plan." Cheekbones said, not forming it as a question.

Crowley nodded. "I propose we banish her to Hell. That's her natural habitat. Word is you banished Astrena to her place of origin. If it worked for a goddess, it should be equally effective against a Knight of Hell."

Dean shook his head slowly. "That won't work. She could still dispatch her demons to attack Win-Win. They could kidnap Henry, turn him into a demon, and she could torture him till he coughed up the key to the bunker."

Cheekbones swallowed audibly, his face turning chalk-white. _Relax. Uncle Crowley has the matter well in hand._

"What if memories were implanted in her mind that there was nothing to the rumor?" Crowley tossed out nonchalantly. "What if she was made to believe that Win-Win had nothing to do with the Men of Letters?"

Sam gave him a startled look. "You can do that?"

"Not me, Moose. Your girlfriend and Chloe should be able to whip up something with my assistance."

"How do you know about them?" Dean challenged, his face red with anger.

"Calm down, Squirrel." Crowley made a soothing gesture to smooth Dean's ruffled fur. "You already know about my association with Astrena. She required me to keep tabs on Chloe and Maia. And before you get on your high horse, it was Scarbo who did the monitoring, not me. I have no knowledge of whatever kinky sex habits the four of you engage in, although I welcome anything you'd like to share." He paused to leer, enjoying the heightened flush on Dean's face. He could have gone on, but Dean looked ready to strangle him. Sure, Crowley could snuff out his life, but that wouldn't solve his problem, nor would it be conducive to the aforementioned glorious future he'd envisioned.

"Astrena was effusive in her praise of the girls' abilities," Crowley continued in a tone aimed to placate the brothers. "With me as their advisor, I'm sure we'll be able to whip something up."

Like, for instance, the wall Astrena had erected in Maia's mind to selectively block out memories of the girl's former life as Astrena's handmaiden. Astrena had also modified Maia's recollections to make her think Crowley was merely one of her sister's business associates. In light of the present situation, that was fortunate.

Crowley could taste the future. What other demon had the skill to form an alliance with both the Bureau and with hunters? In exchange for an occasional crumb of information, he'd be able to skate through transactions without fear of being hounded by Bulldog Burke, the Winchesters, or anyone else. And if they gave him any trouble, Maia was his ace in the hole. He had more than enough evidence to use for blackmail if need be.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal's call caught Sara off guard just she was about to leave her flat in the morning. Today was Thursday, his day to spend at Columbia. He normally called during his lunch break. As she reached for the phone, she hoped for exciting news. For instance, John Hobhouse at Interpol could have requested his help on a case in London. But in New York, it was two o'clock in the morning. That Neal wanted to talk to her so late at night wasn't a good sign.

Just a few weeks ago, she and Neal had been on top of the world. She'd flown in as a surprise for the art reception—the first non-university event that included his original works. What had changed?

"Do you need to rush off to work?" he asked.

"There's nothing urgent, and even if there were, it couldn't possibly be anything as important as talking with you." Her unease increasing, she slipped off her heels and settled into an armchair.

The unexpected call was quickly explained when he filled her in on the monster from Hell. Dean and Sam were staying in two of June's guest bedrooms. They were probably used to sleeping no matter what the threat, but Neal wouldn't get much—not with Henry a prisoner.

"How did Abaddon find you?" she asked, trying not to dwell on what the demon might be doing to Henry, even as bile stung her throat.

"Crowley explained that she's able to read minds. Supposedly she can slap her hand on your forehead and read your memories. I guess it's for the best Henry doesn't know much about the Men of Letters. He discovered the group was in Baltimore around the time of his and the Winchesters' common ancestor, Seth, and that's about it."

"It makes sense she would go to you rather than Noelle. You and Henry have shared so many secrets, Abaddon would view you as the next best source of information."

Neal exhaled. "It was a lucky break that she didn't go to Noelle. I don't know . . . " He cleared his throat, and Sara filled in the awkward pause for herself. Noelle wouldn't have had any warning. She didn't realize demons were real. By now, she and Henry could have both been victims. If Neal hadn't convinced Abaddon that he knew about the key, he and Peter could have been killed as well.

"Joe's with her," Neal said, taking a sip of something. Sara hoped it was from a glass of Mozzie's soothing blend of honey wine. She should have brought several bottles back with her to England. "They shouldn't be in danger since Abaddon's relying on me to supply the key."

_And Henry's life depends on it._ Sara's heart ached for the pressure he was under. "You must be very proud that you can use your con expertise to such good use. Bluffing a Knight of Hell will be one for the record books."

"I think I was on auto-pilot. When she seemed to accept that I knew which key she wanted, I decided to ride with it. Dean said Bobby will be able to give me some tips on how to make it look authentic. I'll use the university's woodshop to make a case. Mozzie offered to have a key prepared."

Sara tried to lighten the mood and forced out a chuckle. "Please take a photo of it. This will be the most arcane-looking key ever made. I assume Dean and Sam are returning to New Haven to watch over Maia and Chloe when Crowley's there."

"Even a Knight from Hell wouldn't keep them away. They ordered him to not show up before noon. I'll wake them up at eight, so they'll have plenty of time to drive back."

"I hope you can squeeze in a little time to sleep."

"No promises, but I'll try."

"Where did you decide to stage the exchange?"

"Noelle suggested a storage room in the basement of Win-Win. Peter and I will go down to Baltimore on Friday afternoon to prepare. We'll meet the Winchesters there." Neal cleared his throat. "Peter and I discussed the situation with Eric after Crowley left. We decided that Noelle, Graham, and their spouses need to know the truth. Any of them can be targeted by Abaddon. Peter was on the speakerphone with me when I called Noelle. I don't think she would have believed me otherwise. She'll inform the others."

"I wish I could be there to help."

"I do too, but we'll just have more to celebrate during your next trip."

"After taking down a Knight of Hell, the sky's the limit! Henry and I may need to call on El to plan something extra-special."

Sara hoped thinking for a few minutes beyond Friday would help to ease the stress they both felt. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept reverting about the enormity of the task. What if Abaddon didn't fall for the con? What if the women couldn't come up with a potion? How injured was Henry? Would she ever see Neal again?

Her stomach clenched at the horrific future which could await them all. Saturday was only a few days off. Neal was fighting his tendency to shield others from the truth. Opening up to Noelle and Graham about exactly what Henry was up against was a giant leap forward. And now he'd reached out to her and let her know what might happen. Even though she probably wouldn't get any sleep till Henry was freed, his trust in her made them closer than ever.

Sara's eyes welled with tears she was glad Neal couldn't see. They spent several minutes discussing plans for his master's graduation and Angela's wedding. All those hopeful times were surely an omen for a positive outcome.

* * *

_Notes: Crowley's chortling over the success of his scheme. He's convinced he's in the driver's seat and will proceed to stage 2 in New Haven. Is he right to be complacent? All will be revealed in Chapter 3: Devil's Trap._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_   
_Story Visuals and Music: The Cheekbones Caffrey board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)_   
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	3. Devil's Trap

**Maia's House, New Haven. Thursday, April 6, 2006.**

Maia realized she was wringing her hands nervously and forced herself to stop. Could she make light of the revelation? "First I find out the woman I thought was my sister is a goddess," she told the group. "Now I learn that the man I believed worked for the family foundation is a demon. What next?"

Sam, sitting next to her on the taupe velvet sofa, cradled her head on his shoulder. "For months, I've tried to shield you from our jobs. This is a good lesson. No more secrets. If I'd only told you about Crowley, we might have been able to put a stop to Astrena much earlier."

Chloe, Dean, and Bobby had joined them in the living room to wait for the demon's arrival. Bobby had a bottle of holy water on hand to douse on Crowley if he began acting up.

"I'm glad to hear you acknowledge it," Chloe said, still sounding upset. "That demon may not be the only nasty character Maia's come in contact with. Astrena could have invited some of her sisters to the house."

"Or the bookstore," Dean added. "It's impossible to verify the identities of everyone she associated with, so maintain your vigilance. If something doesn't ring true, let us know about it."

Chloe gave a start. "The air's being distorted. Can you feel it?"

A second later, Crowley appeared before them. He wore his customary attire of a black suit and maroon shirt. His smile was as easy-going as ever. Maia had found his sarcastic ways amusing. He'd teased her about her dog Tatyana. She'd had dinner with him on multiple occasions. Not once had she suspected he was a demon.

Crowley gazed around the living room, his smile broadening. "Ah yes, familiar surroundings. It's good to be back."

"Don't get used to it," Bobby growled. "This ain't no lovefest."

Crowley scowled at him. "Is this any way to treat your new partner? If you want to avoid Armageddon, you better play nice."

Tatyana raced into the room, barking a greeting as her tail wagged a frantic drumbeat.

Crowley beamed. "Now this is more like it. Miss me, sweetheart?" The wolfhound rubbed against him as if he was a long-lost friend, and, in Tatyana's eyes, he probably was.

Sam sighed. "I knew she wasn't much of a guard dog, but really?"

Maia winced. "Tatyana's always had a soft spot for him. Maybe it's the wolf in her?" Dean, Sam, and Bobby had all lectured her and Chloe about how dangerous Crowley was, but it was hard to believe them. Crowley had once jokingly referred to himself as her uncle. In some respects, she'd found him more approachable than her sister.

"Enough with the puppy love," Dean said, frowning. "We have a Knight of Hell to corral."

Crowley slid into a wing-back chair next to Maia, a smirk on his face. "Which is why I'm your new partner."

"Our banishment potion should succeed in sending Abaddon back to Hell," Chloe said hastily, placing a cautionary hand on Dean's arm, "but we're not familiar with any spell that can alter memories. Did you witness Astrena using it?"

"No, but I saw the aftereffects. She was able to selectively remove memories and replace them with invented ones."

"Who did she use it on?" Maia asked, wondering what had provoked the goddess. Had someone discovered her true identity? What other motive could the goddess have had?

Crowley hesitated, giving her an odd look, then shrugged. "Astrena was careless. She revealed her powers to someone who shouldn't have known. The alternative could easily have been death. It was a kindness she performed." He glanced around at the others. "Despite some of her more deplorable habits, Astrena wasn't completely evil." He added in a low rumble. "Not like Abaddon."

Sam cleared his throat. "Was the technique she used similar to that employed by a pure-blood vampire?"

Crowley arched an eyebrow and nodded slowly. "Not bad, Moose. You know about that, do you?"

Dean scowled. "Don't forget our little encounter in West Virginia. You advised Astrena's brat Lutar to wipe my memory."

"Ah yes, thank you for reminding me. He was about to kill you. Yet another time I saved your life."

Bobby snorted. "Don't expect to get a Nobel Peace Prize for it."

Crowley shrugged off the criticism. "All in good time." He turned to Chloe. "Now where were we? Ah yes. As you can well imagine I was understandably intrigued by the procedure. I discovered some of the essential ingredients through a judicious application of well-timed flattery."

Chloe shook her head worriedly. "Without the spell, the ingredients will be useless."

"Your wish is my command," Crowley said, standing up. "How familiar are you with Astrena's private retreat?"

Maia assumed Crowley was referring to the small chamber next to Astrena's bedroom. It had been so thoroughly warded that Maia hadn't known about its existence until Astrena was banished back to the stars. Inside the room was a large faceted crystal ball. Three paintings by the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti hung on the walls.

"The wards are gone, but we haven't done anything to the room," Chloe said. She and Maia hadn't decided what to do with Astrena's suite. In any case, all enchanted objects would need to be removed before undertaking a remodeling project.

"Astrena's retreat is conveniently situated close to her bed." Crowley paused and turned to Maia. "I hope my words don't distress you, little mouse, but I was a frequent guest in her bedroom." He scanned the others. "And you can cast aside your glowers. Thanks to those assignations, I learned where Astrena kept her grimoire."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Astrena had a grimoire? Sam exchanged looks with Dean. His brother's initial reaction was probably to burn it. The dark magic it could contain could be a powerful temptation for anyone. Dean was already worried about Astrena's influence on the women.

Sam watched Dean's expression harden and breathed easier when his brother didn't voice an objection. That spell was too important. If it resulted in fallout, they'd deal with it later.

Crowley led them into Astrena's inner chamber. He removed the painting of Lady Lilith from the wall and pressed a hidden spring in the wainscoting. A secret drawer snapped open. Inside was a thick volume in midnight-blue leather.

"Don't just stand there," Crowley chided. "Which one of you lucky witches wants it?"

"If it's enchanted, I should be the one to pick it up," Chloe declared. "Maia's better at dehexing than I am."

Before anyone could object, she reached for it. The result was gratifyingly anticlimactic. The book acted as innocent as a cookbook. Chloe opened it and her brow furrowed. "Just my luck. It's in a script I can't read. Maia, is this Greek?"

Maia took the book from Chloe's outstretched hand and skimmed a couple of pages. "It's written in an archaic form of ancient Greek."

"Can you understand it?" Sam asked.

"Yes," she said absently, continuing to leaf through the pages. "But finding the correct spell, assuming it's written down, will take a while. The handwriting's difficult to read and there must be over three hundred pages."

Crowley smiled complacently. "I've done my bit. A visit to Astrena's well-equipped bar is in order."

"What do you think this is?" Bobby growled. "Your private lounge?"

"Don't tell me you drank all the Glencraig," Crowley snarled back.

Maia looked up. "There's plenty of Scotch in the bar and two fresh pies in the kitchen. I picked them up at Wisteria's inn when I heard you were coming."

Sam had been part of the conspiracy. Maia remembered how much Crowley liked Wisteria's pies. It was something he had in common with both Dean and Bobby.

As she predicted, the glower on Crowley's face promptly disappeared. "Raisin, I hope?"

"And also peach pecan," Maia said, looking at the demon hopefully. "That's Bobby's favorite."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "What is this? Pie diplomacy?"

Dean shrugged. "It works for me. Sam, you wanna . . .?" He nodded at the women. "I'll bring up slices for you."

Under the circumstances, they had no choice but to divide their forces. Was it more dangerous to have a demon feasting on pie and Scotch in the kitchen or to let Maia read Astrena's grimoire? Likely they were both disasters in the making, and all the pie in the world wouldn't help.

The hours passed slowly. There wasn't much anyone could do to help Maia. Sam sat next to her, lending moral support while reviewing the exact configuration of the devil's trap. He'd only made a couple but his dad's journal had tips on how to employ it. Chloe retrieved a book on orchids to read.

After about an hour, Dean came upstairs to report that Crowley had taken off and that he was heading to the garage with Bobby to work on the Impala. Daphne crawled into Sam's lap and began kneading him. It was so relaxing his eyes closed on him . . .

"I found it!" Maia exclaimed, looking up excitedly. "Astrena called it Lethe. That's the name of the Greek spirit of forgetfulness." She scanned the lines as Chloe and Sam gathered close around her. "It's a potion which the spell-caster drinks. She then blows on the subject who will subsequently believe everything she tells them. The ingredients include several orchids that we have on hand, including Eurydice's tears." She looked at Sam. "That's the orchid I used in the potion to cure you and Neal."

"The orchid has a dark red bloom," Chloe said. "I remember you pointing it out, but I don't know if there are any flowers left. I'll check the grow room while you copy the text."

Chloe would be the best one to cast the spell on Abaddon, but would Dean go along with it? Sam hadn't cast many spells and had no native ability. If he tried it, the spell might fail. Dean had learned to accept and appreciate the women's help, but allowing his girlfriend to go face to face with a Knight of Hell?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On Friday morning, Neal called the number Abaddon left. It was an anonymous voicemail requesting he leave a message at the tone. The very ordinariness of the message was in itself ominous. He told her to appear at his cell phone coordinates at eight o'clock in the evening, ostensibly to allow him time to retrieve the key after the employees had left.

Eric was already in Baltimore. He'd taken the train the previous evening and was staying with Noelle and her husband Joe.

Peter drove Neal and Mozzie to Baltimore on Friday afternoon. Before leaving, Peter prepared a file containing all the information about Abaddon and left it with El. In the event he didn't return, she was to give it to Hughes.

Mozzie acted as a pressure-release valve during the drive. He kept Neal loose with a nonstop monologue on the Men of Letters. Earlier in the day, Mozzie had interviewed Bobby to extract every kernel of information he had about the group. He then combined the results with his own imaginative theories. He even managed to weave a connection between the Tudor Crown and the secret organization, claiming that the Men of Letters may have taken the precious artifact into protective custody and had hidden it within the bunker.

Neal suspected Mozzie felt a kinship to the Men of Letters. After all, Mozzie had made himself a bunker in the basement of the Aloha Emporium. Had he been driven by a subconscious prompt from his fellow scholars?

Peter poked holes in Mozzie's theories throughout the trip but Mozzie's unique form of relaxation therapy was working on him too. By the time they showed up at Win-Win headquarters, both Neal and Peter were in a better place to cope with whatever came their way.

Peter called Dean when they arrived in Baltimore. The contingent from New Haven was still a half-hour away. Chloe and Sam were in the Impala with him. Maia stayed home. Bobby was there to guard against any unwanted intrusions by Crowley.

At Win-Win, only Noelle, Graham, and Allen Winston knew what would take place in the company basement. The storage room Graham suggested they appropriate was normally used to stored surplus office equipment. On Dean's recommendation, Allen had ordered the room stripped, leaving only one small metal table in place

Standing in the lobby to greet them were Noelle, Joe, Eric, Graham, and Julia. Noelle flung her arms around Neal when he entered. "How are you holding up, sweetie?" she murmured.

"About as well as you, I imagine."

"Have you heard anything more from Henry?" Graham asked, his voice rougher than normal.

Neal shook his head. "Not a word." Eric looked like he hadn't slept in days. Neal had already experienced hostage situations. They didn't lessen the fear, but he'd been forced to learn how to manage it better.

"This is our carrot," Neal said, pulling out the box. He was pleased with how well it had come out and thought it would give something for the others to focus on as they waited for the contingent from New Haven to arrive.

The box was about three by five inches. Eric, a skilled carpenter, reached for it. "Excellent workmanship. It looks old. The Arts-and-Crafts style is a good nod to the period, and those arcane symbols are impressive."

"I recommended Neal use oak," Mozzie said. "Wiccans believe oak has the most powerful magic of all the trees and is the best partner for spells and counterspells. Oak is a symbol of leadership, prosperity, and strength—all qualities the Men of Letter would admire."

"What's the star that you carved into the box?" Graham asked, his brow furrowing as he examined it. "That's not a witch's pentagram, is it?"

"No, but it looks a little like it," Neal said. "Bobby sent me the design. It's called an Aquarian Star and is used by the Men of Letters as a symbol of their society. It's a unicursal hexagram which means it can be drawn in one movement." He opened the box to reveal the key. Mozzie had a friend make one with a bit incised with intricate wards. Neal had also engraved the bow of the key with the Aquarian Star.

When Dean, Sam, and Chloe arrived, Neal made the introductions. Under the circumstances, seeing a man that resembled Henry so closely seemed like a cruel trick even though Henry's relatives had already seen the photos.

"It must be disorienting for you as well," Noelle told Dean. "Do you feel like you're rescuing yourself?"

"Yeah, a little," Dean admitted, "but weirdness comes with the job." He scanned the group of anxious people. "I wasn't expecting such a crowd. Here's how it's going down. You're all to stay here, or better yet, go home. You'll be safer there."

"We know how concerned you are," Sam added in a softer tone. "But you won't help Henry by being present when Abaddon arrives."

And you're increasing the number of people we'll need to protect," Chloe said firmly. Neal caught Dean give Chloe a startled look. It was clear Chloe considered herself to be one of the hunters even if he wasn't fully on board yet.

"Don't worry about us," Joe said. "We'll stay out of your way, but we're not leaving. We've already installed remote cameras and can watch the live feed from an upstairs room."

The Winchesters didn't waste time arguing the point. A Knight of Hell was on her way and they all had work to do.

Dean painted the ceiling of the storage room with a devil's trap. Since he was using ultraviolet ink, he had to work in black light to see what he was doing. They hoped that Abaddon would only become aware of the trap after the black light was turned on.

At exactly eight o'clock, Neal stood alone in the room. Last-minute doubts sneaked in. Had Crowley been working all along with Abaddon? Realistically, it was hard to see what advantage he'd acquire from it. Unless his purpose was simply to eliminate a rival . . . Neal ripped his mind from the dark possibilities. There'd be more than enough time later to figure out what Crowley's true role was, assuming their strategy succeeded.

He'd powered off his phone when they entered the Baltimore city limits so Abaddon wouldn't be able to pay him a surprise early visit, but it was now time to put out the welcome mat for the Knight of Hell.

Neal turned on his phone and left a message at the sound of the default voicemail request. Within thirty seconds, the air appeared to thicken and out popped Abaddon with Henry held in front of her like a shield. Henry was unshaven, his clothes rumpled. Neal didn't see any injuries, but Abaddon had a thin dagger pressing into his shirt directly over his heart.

"You have the key?" she demanded.

Neal nodded, tapping his pants pocket. "Henry, are you all right?"

"Yeah, it seems that I lost count of a couple of days." His voice was slurred. He looked around the room groggily as if he was feeling the effects of having been drugged. Neal wondered if it was a ruse to keep the demon from watching him closely.

"You didn't miss much," Neal assured him. "Abaddon, release him and I'll give you the key."

"Why should I be the one to go first?" she sneered.

"Because you're Abaddon. I'm quite aware you could slay us both, and I'd rather come out of this alive."

Her lips twisted into a half-smile, informing him she had no intention of letting either one of them escape.

The table had been placed in the center of the room, directly under the devil's trap. Neal stepped forward, placing his hand over his jacket pocket. "Do we have a deal?" He kept his face calm and cocky. He'd conned a goddess. How much tougher could a Knight of Hell be?

She continued to look amused. Abaddon was convinced she was in control.

"You might as well make the trade," Henry mumbled to her. "Whatever it is must be worth more than me."

With a lightning-fast shove, she hurled him to one wall. "Give me the key."

"My pleasure," Neal said nonchalantly and strode toward the table. As soon as she drew near, he jumped to the side. At the same instant, the ultraviolet light was switched on.

With a scream, Abaddon lunged at him, but he was already outside the circle.

"You think this will hold me?" she mocked. "Not when my demons arrive and feast on every mortal in this building."

"Stuff it, bitch," Dean said, striding into the room with Sam and Chloe. She'd already been warned to cast the spell immediately before Abaddon had a chance to call in reinforcements.

As Chloe approached, Abaddon looked uneasy for the first time. Did she sense Chloe's power?

Chloe blew a prolonged breath toward Abaddon's face and the demon immediately slumped to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

Chloe then began to chant in Latin. Maia had been working with her on her pronunciation and Neal was able to understand the words. Chloe told the demon that the rumor of Win-Win being a secret headquarters for the Men of Letters had been debunked. No chapters remained in the States. Sam had suggested adding that the Men of Letters had also been eradicated in England, but Crowley pointed out there were already too many demons who knew about the English branch.

The final twist was something Bobby had suggested. Chloe planted the belief in Abaddon's mind that if she ever returned to Earth, she would be destroyed.

When Chloe finished speaking, Sam stepped forward and plunged the sword of Saint Mercurius into her back. The silver sword had been coated with banishment oil. As soon as the blade penetrated her flesh, Abaddon dissolved into reddish gas. The effect lasted for only a few seconds before it too disappeared.

It was over. The outrageous scheme had actually worked. Somewhere Crowley must be smirking with satisfaction.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

By the time Peter entered the room. Neal and Henry were already high fiving each other. Dean stood back to let them enjoy the moment. This job was done. They'd clean up and hit the road.

"Did it seem weird for you to face Henry?" Sam said in a low voice. "From my perspective, it was like you'd split into two."

Dean rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I guess twins get used to it. Henry and I haven't spent enough time together for it to feel natural."

Eric raced into the small room with the Winslow relatives at his heels. There was no way they could have gotten downstairs from the lobby so quickly. They'd probably opted to stay just down the hallway, but it didn't matter now.

Henry appeared none the worse for wear from the ordeal except that he was famished. He looked a little perplexed but happy when Eric flung his arms around him and kissed him. Eric's action was quickly followed by bone-crunching hugs from the rest of the family.

"This is nice, guys, but could someone tell me what the hell went on?" Henry asked plaintively.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Neal asked.

"I bought some cupcakes, left the store. Then . . ." He hesitated, his brow furrowing. "A woman approached me for directions. That was Abaddon?"

Chloe nodded. "You were her prisoner for three days."

Henry's eyes widened. "I'll have to take your word for it. My first clear memory is seeing Neal in this room."

"Don't try to think about it, sweetie," Noelle advised. "We'll take you to a hospital for a check-up."

"Nothing doing," Henry protested. "I'm starving, and now I know why." He scanned the room. "Where are we?"

"Win-Win's basement," Mr. Winslow said.

Henry smiled. "I thought so. There's an Italian restaurant near the office. I don't care what hour it is. We'll open them up. Eric, just wait till you've had their chocolate tiramisu. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

He made a face. "No mention of dying, please."

"Why don't you go on," Sam suggested. "We'll get rid of the devil's trap for you."

"Don't clean it off," Julia urged who was studying it intently. "I'd like to photograph it for our records then we'll take care of it." She glanced at Peter. "Unlike you, we're able to document everything without fear of bureaucratic censure."

Noelle turned to Dean. "We can't thank you enough for your help. You must stay for dinner."

Dean shrugged. "Thanks, but we should be going." Family hug fests weren't for him, and he was already feeling a little claustrophobic from the number of people packed into the small room.

"We should check on Maia and Bobby," Sam added, slanting an understanding glance at Dean. "Make sure Crowley's not making a nuisance of himself."

Mr. Winslow approached and handed Dean his business card. "I wish you'd reconsider, but if you feel you have to leave, I insist on you making a return trip. I'll be glad to pick up your expenses. And be sure to send me your invoice for this job. Don't give me the friends-and-family rate. Win-Win can afford it. You not only saved Henry but, based on what I've learned about Abaddon, the company as well."

"That's not necessary," Sam said, looking uncomfortable.

"Your fee is non-negotiable," Mr. Winslow said, setting his jaw.

"Hey, Sam, who are we to argue?" Dean said. When was the last time anyone had ever paid them for a job? Like never?

"Good," Mr. Winslow said, nodding with satisfaction. "I knew you were smart. I look forward to our next meeting which better be soon."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Anyone see Mozzie?" Neal asked.

Peter's gut did a nosedive to the floor. Had the shadow-lurker burrowed into Win-Win's files? Was he searching for evidence of the Tudor Crown? Planting bugs to discover Win-Win's secrets?

When Neal took off to find him, Peter and Graham joined in the hunt.

A door to an adjoining room was ajar. "That contains our historical records," Graham said, frowning.

Before he could investigate, Mozzie strolled out. "You really should upgrade your electronic locks. I'll be happy to advise you. For a suitable fee, of course." He turned to Neal. "Henry's all right, I gather?"

"Yes, and Abaddon has exited stage right. What's that you're holding?" he asked, eyeing the small three-by-four-inch cardboard box.

"It's too small to be the Tudor Crown," Peter joked.

"Don't jump to any conclusions," Mozzie chided. He removed the lid and pulled out a rusted key. "I found this stuffed inside a manila folder in a file cabinet. According to the note, Henry Winslow received this key in the mail on October 23, 1958. The accompanying note explains that it opens a crypt in a cemetery in New Haven. Winslow is requested to store it in a safe place."

"That Henry was your father, right?" Peter asked Graham.

He nodded. "There's a box of his memorabilia in the archive. I searched it when I was looking for information about Seth Winslow. I'm sure that key wasn't there."

"It wasn't," Mozzie agreed calmly. "I also investigated his collection and found nothing of significance. This box had been misfiled. I discovered it in the collection belonging to Martin Winston, the co-founder of Win-Win. What I found particularly relevant was that although there's no signature to the note, the sender didn't leave it unsigned."

"Let me see that," Graham said, reaching for the note.

Peter looked at it over his shoulder. "That's the Aquarian Star!" He turned to Neal. "There may be a connection to the Men of Letters, after all." Neal was ignoring him, staring at his phone with a puzzled look on his face.

"Everything okay?" Peter murmured.

"I received a text from Annina, the federal marshal who's been assisting us." Neal looked up. "She wants me to call her. I wonder what it's about."

**Grove Street Cemetery, New Haven. Saturday afternoon.**

Mozzie rode back to New Haven with Dean, Sam, and Chloe. He claimed the privilege based on his discovery of the key. Persuading Graham that the Winchesters should take possession of it had been child's play for a master negotiator such as himself. And as the hunters' _key_ advisor—even Sam had snickered at that—Mozzie claimed the right to be present for the opening of the crypt. 

He never slept more than a few hours at any one time, and he would have gladly driven the Impala through the night to get back to New Haven. In fact, he'd done his best to persuade Dean to take him up on the offer. It was a pity Dean was so possessive of the car.

But never mind. They were here now. Maia and Bobby had joined them for what Mozzie was convinced would be a discovery perhaps only second to Howard Carter breaking through the entrance to Tutankhamun's tomb.

The designated cemetery was an auspicious start. Grove Street Cemetery was over two hundred years old—the second oldest in the nation. Some of the graves dated back to 1796. Only two years later, George Washington wrote a letter warning of the Illuminati. A mere coincidence? Hah!

The crypt was only marked by a number, but on the trip up to New Haven, Mozzie had managed to procure a list of mausoleums at the cemetery. The number corresponded to William Townsend, a Yale-educated doctor who died in 1935. Although there was no record of William having belonged to the Skull and Bones secret society at Yale, the possibilities were exhilarating. Robert Townsend was a member of the Culper Ring of Revolutionary spies. Was William a descendant? Mozzie was determined to find out. He felt in his bones that there was a link between the Men of Letters, the Culper Ring, and the Illuminati.

"This is the Townsend mausoleum," Sam said, studying the weathered stone structure. The size of a shed, with a simple vaulted roof, it was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.

Mozzie's heart thrummed with excitement. What mysteries were inside? What had the Men of Letters discovered about Hitler clones? He inserted the key into the lock of the ancient wooden door, and as expected, it didn't open. "The lock's likely rusted," he informed his fellow adventurers.

Before he could whip out his case of lock picks, Dean had already stepped up. Mozzie didn't begrudge him the thrill. They were all seized by treasure-hunter fever.

Dean had the door open in short order. There were a couple of tombs in the inside space as well as niches for urns. Cobwebs hung heavy on the stone walls. Fortunately, Mozzie was equipped with an ample amount of hand sanitizer. A few spiders, no matter how large, wouldn't keep him away. 

Mozzie carefully scrutinized the floor. There was no sign of a door or passage to a crypt, confound it. Could they have been wrong about the mausoleum? Perhaps the cemetery guide he'd obtained was incorrect.

"Well, look at this," Bobby said, breaking into a grin. "You may be onto something after all." He pointed to one of the niches containing an urn. Carved into the stone next to the urn was an Aquarian Star.

Chloe brushed the stone wall lightly with her fingertips.

"Do you sense anything?" Maia asked.

She nodded. "I think the tomb's been warded. See if you can break it."

Mozzie watched intently as Maia appeared to put herself into a trance-like state. Neal had told him about her hexbreaking ability. Was there any chance she could teach him? He'd been convinced his parents were spies, but what if they were witches instead? He might have inherited a natural ability for magic. That would help to explain some of his extraordinary abilities.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said softly, interrupted his musings. A wooden trapdoor was now visible in the floor.

Mozzie's heart was now beating so rapidly that only his superb physical condition kept him from fainting. Dean and Sam both drew their silver blades, motioning the rest of them to stand back. What were they expecting? A mummy? The ghost of Cromwell?

The trap door creaked open, causing a cloud of dust to erupt. Mozzie sneezed. He sneezed again. Maia passed him a tissue. Why hadn't he brought a face mask?

Sam shone a flashlight into the abyss.

"What do you see?" Mozzie demanded.

"Not much," Dean said. "Some old metal boxes, the kind meant to hold documents."

Mozzie swallowed back his disappointment at the small cubbyhole. Okay, so not as spectacular as Tutankhamun's tomb. The boxes weren't deep enough to hold the Tudor Crown. It was a heavy blow.

They emptied the hiding spot and took the boxes back to Maia's house. The documents revealed that New Haven was the site of a chapter house for the Men of Letters. It was closed in 1930. William Townsend was one of the members. He stored their papers in the mausoleum, hoping that they would prove useful to future hunters. Sam said the records are mainly of creatures that had been encountered in the region.

There was no mention of the Tudor Crown. Others might be discouraged, but Mozzie was undeterred. The quest would continue.

**Blue Crescent Jazz Club, New Orleans. Sunday evening.**

Crowley sank deeper into the midnight-blue velvet club chair and listened to the smoky strains of the saxophone trio. His glass of Glencraig was nestled in his hands. Drasko would join him shortly. All was right in his world once more. In fact, it was better than right. The future was a bright beacon on the horizon.

He'd considered lingering in New Haven but decided against it. This was simply the first of many forays. Even Dean had to admit his new bestie Crowley had been accommodating. He'd supplied the grimoire. He hadn't made any passes at the girls. He'd never gotten along with Astrena's cat, but Tatyana still loved him.

The time would inevitably come that Crowley would pay a return visit.

Meanwhile, the present situation was refreshingly pleasant. His spies in Hell reported that Abaddon was back in the inferno. The wall in her mind was holding strong. One of his demons had ventured to ask her about a possible resurgence of the Men of Letters, and she'd laughed it off. More importantly, she showed no interest in coming after Crowley.

When you think about it, he hadn't had to make any sacrifices. He couldn't read the grimoire anyway. If he played his cards right, he could continue to take advantage of Maia and Chloe's services. As for Cheekbones . . . Crowley smiled. Hagen had been right about the potential in both him and Mozzie. They were yet another resource he'd draw upon again.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Chloe found Maia in the grow room, studying the Eurydice's tears orchid. They only had one plant. It had never produced side shoots, but Chloe hoped to propagate it through division. They already knew of two spells that were reliant upon its blooms.

"The orchid's not sick, I hope?" she asked, taking a seat on the workbench next to Maia.

"No, at least I don't think so." Maia brushed back a lock of blonde hair. "While you were in New Haven, I studied Astrena's grimoire. That bloom we used for the potion? Astrena called it a soul-orchid. If I understand her text correctly, it contained the soul of a vampire."

Chloe stared at her aghast. "How's that possible?"

"I don't know. She didn't explain how she was able to achieve it. I haven't told the others, but it makes me wonder about the other orchids in here. Are they too dangerous to have around?"

Chloe took a slow breath. "We should tell the men."

"You know what their reaction will be."

"They already worry about us engaging in dark magic. Using a soul-orchid doesn't get much darker than that."

"The orchid is no longer blooming. It's probably safe . . ." Maia's words trailed off as she gazed around the room.

So many orchids. How many others had hidden secrets? If they told Dean and Sam, they'd likely order them to destroy all the plants. But without the soul-orchid, they wouldn't have been able to neutralize Abaddon.

"We could hold off letting them know," Chloe suggested. "The men are poring over the documents from the crypt, making notes about monsters and the methods used to kill them. They have more than enough on their plates without us adding another complication."

Maia smiled. "Since there are no more blooms, why make a hasty decision that we could later regret?"

Chloe nodded agreement. "They've kept secrets from us, claiming it's to protect us. That used to bother me, but I'm starting to see the wisdom. We're simply playing by hunters' rules."

* * *

_Notes: You probably noticed that Neal's final scene ended with a cliffhanger. What was that text message about? You won't have to wait long for the answer. It's the subject of Penna Nomen's next story, Roads Not Taken. She'll begin posting it this coming weekend._

_Last weekend was a special moment for our series as we celebrated the 7th anniversary of the story that launched an AU. Caffrey Conversation has so far inspired 48 stories and well over 2 million words. Congratulations, Penna, on your awesome accomplishment!_

_I'm taking a short break while Penna posts her story. I'll be back on November 4 with my next Caffrey Conversation story, The Shark of SoHo._ _In the meantime, Halloween's just around the corner. Many of my stories have featured Halloween or spooky subjects. You can find the full list in our blog post:[Holidays with the Caffrey Conversation Crew](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2016/12/holidays-with-caffrey-conversation-crew.html). There's a link to the post on the front page of our blog._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: _ [ _pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com_ ](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com) __  
Story Visuals and Music: The Cheekbones Caffrey board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[ _pinterest.com/caffreycon_ ](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon) _  
_ _Twitter:_ [ _@silbrith_ ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)


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